


Raw Sugar

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hetalia Kink Meme, M/M, Sexual Content, Socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should have just accepted at this point that everything Alfred did was attractive, even stupid things like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Hetalia kink meme and then reposted to LJ October 30, 2010. 
> 
> The prompt was for Arthur to have a sock fetish.

There were many things that Arthur had come to accept about Alfred. Flaws, and things like that. He accepted them because, perhaps inexplicably, he was rather fond of the boy (read: head over heels in love) and when that was the case, the flaws were easier to overlook.   
  
He accepted that the idiot never did the dishes, or that a lovely cuddle session (which Arthur would adamantly deny existed) could quickly be interrupted if Kiku were to text and tell Alfred about a new game or a new game’s cheat. He accepted that Alfred was loud, brash, insensitive at times, and then could easily be simply clueless and endearingly oblivious. He was loud in the mornings, even if the way he tried to jam out on a (badly tuned) guitar was oddly adorable. (Arthur felt that way even when sleep deprived.) Alfred was messy, though: inconsiderate, selfish. But despite all that, in the moments when Arthur was certain that it could never work out between them—Alfred would go and be stupidly sweet and melt Arthur’s heart all over again. It was to the point where Arthur was torn between thinking the boy oblivious or such a good actor that he took full advantage of all of Arthur’s buttons and weak spots, all the while smiling that big smile of his.   
  
Alfred could stand to take better care of himself, too, Arthur reasoned. He was gaining a little weight, getting love handles (which, admittedly, didn’t bother Arthur that much—he liked him to have a little girth to him; it was easier to hold on to him that way). His hair was often disheveled and that ridiculous (adorable) fly-away hair of his never helped his perpetual boyish look. His clothes needed ironing and some of his beloved tee-shirts had holes in them. His ties were always crooked until Arthur straightened them at world meetings. His glasses were slightly crooked (or perhaps his ears were the ones that were slightly crooked).   
  
But despite all these faults (some of which were hardly faults or flaws at all, but simply _Alfred_ ), Arthur knew that he cared deeply for him, would always care deeply for him. And it’d gotten to the point where he’d accepted the slobby behavior. Or he’d just huff at Alfred until the boy took the hint and cleaned up the room a little.   
  
Which was why when that particular morning, as a horrible rendition of some guitar song jagged its way through the house, instead of bitching about it like he should have, Arthur just rolled over and stuffed his head under Alfred’s pillow. The pillow smelled like Alfred—or maybe smelled like them together. Or maybe it was too early for him to be smelling much of anything with coherent similes in mind. The song was taking shape, perhaps something by Hendrix (again, played horribly). But as it took shape, Arthur just groaned, and watched the shores of sleep retreat for another day. He peeked out from under the pillow at Alfred’s alarm clock, read the time of day with as much disdain he could muster for an inanimate object, and sank into the mattress with another groan.   
  
“That bastard…” he muttered. “He can stay up until God only knows when, and then wake up all chipper and sunshine-y and… fuck.”   
  
Arthur was not a morning person. Perhaps that was a flaw that Alfred had to learn to accept about Arthur.   
  
Alfred finally stopped playing, or perhaps the guitar died a sudden, painful death, because Alfred’s house filled with blissful silence for all of three seconds before Arthur heard the distant thump of Alfred barreling his way up the stairs and, undoubtedly, to Arthur.  
  
Arthur tried to fall asleep in the five seconds time it took for Alfred to reach him.  
  
“Arthuuuuuuuuuuuuur, good mor—oh, you aren’t awake yet! Sorry!” Alfred said (practically shouted) as he slammed the bedroom door open.  
  
“For fuck’s sake,” was Arthur’s greeting, and he pulled his head out from under the pillow to glare half-heartedly at Alfred before flopping his head back down onto the pillow. “How the _fuck_ can you be so damned cheerful in the morning?”  
  
Alfred, smiling a bit sheepishly, padded his way over to Arthur’s side of the bed. He shuffled, really, wearing oversized, white socks that flopped down to his ankles. He scratched at his thigh as he approached, bunching up his boxers briefly. Socks, boxers, and a faded band shirt that probably belonged to Arthur once—he looked like a right (attractive) slob.   
  
“Morning, honey,” Alfred greeted.  
  
“Don’t call me that,” Arthur, well, bitched. So much for not bitching.  
  
But Alfred, naturally seemed undaunted by Arthur’s mood (or he didn’t notice it). He was always good at annoying Arthur’s mood until it pacified into something more romantically acceptable. Alfred bent his head and kissed Arthur on the mouth and Arthur graciously, stoically accepted the greeting.  
  
Yet when Alfred pulled away he just wrinkled his nose. “Yuck, fine—no Honey. Good morning, Morning Breath.”  
  
“Shut the _fuck_ up,” Arthur snapped, then lifted his hands to grasp at Alfred’s waist, slid his hands over his fucking cute love handles (why the fuck were love handles cute?) and pulled the boy closer. Alfred, ever the cheerful, sunshine-y asshole, climbed up onto the bed and snuggled up to Arthur’s side as if Arthur were not in the murderous mid-morning mood.  
  
Alfred nuzzled up to him, nosing into his hair, and puffing out a small laugh.  
  
“You’re so bitchy in the morning,” Alfred laughed, somehow managed to say the insult affectionately.  
  
Arthur felt his eyebrow twitch and he contemplated punching that cute little smile right in the face, but instead he just sighed and wrapped his arms around Alfred, shifting his face to press his mouth against Alfred’s cheek.   
  
“Good morning,” Arthur said with a small sigh.  
  
Alfred contented himself kissing all along Arthur, though avoiding his mouth—possibly because Arthur hadn’t yet had the chance to brush his teeth. His lips brushed along his jaw, his ears, his neck, his nose, his forehead. It tickled just a little, but it was also strangely relaxing, and Arthur felt as if maybe he’d be able to slip back into sleep for a few more hours.  
  
Eventually, the boy pulled away with one last kiss to his forehead and stood up, straightening and pressing his hands into the small of his back, kneading at sore muscles and arching his back in a stretch. Arthur watched, slightly memorized, as Alfred yawned.  
  
“Anyway,” Alfred said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “You go back to sleep. I’m just gonna be downstairs playing video games or something. Didn’t mean to wake you.”  
  
Arthur grasped Alfred’s hand before he could leave Arthur be, and placed a kiss on his knuckles. Then, with a yawn, before Alfred could see Arthur’s blushing face (or, unknowingly to Arthur, vice versa), Arthur rolled over onto his side and snuggled into his pillow.  
  
“Go have fun,” Arthur said around a yawn. “I’ll see you in a bit.”  
  
“Kay,” Alfred said and started shuffling away. Arthur watched the boy retreat, his eyes on his backside before sliding down to the socks. He frowned.   
  
Even the damned socks were attractive on Alfred. He didn’t understand how Alfred managed to make Arthur obsess everything he did. Perhaps he was just becoming obsessed with Alfred himself, and everything he did was a necessary casualty to Arthur’s attraction. Regardless, he watched Alfred shuffle away, stared at the socks until they disappeared from view.   
  
Arthur closed his eyes, and sighed. It was remarkable, what a change Alfred did to him. He hadn’t expected to care for the boy as deeply as he did now, nor had he expected every little stupid thing he did to be attractive. The way Alfred folded laundry was arousing, for fuck’s sake (provided Arthur was around in the rare, rare moments when Alfred actually did laundry). As he slipped off into sleep, he hoped those socks would still be there when he woke up.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Arthur woke up a few hours later, to the distant rumbles of video games and a rather loud curse from Alfred. Arthur cracked a small smile, already feeling a remarkably better mood as he sat up, stretching and working out the kinks earned from the old mattress on Alfred’s bed. He pushed the blankets away from his body and shuffled around, searching for his clothes. He managed to locate a fresh pair of underwear and a clean shirt, but couldn’t find his trousers. After a few long moments of searching fruitlessly, he scooped up Alfred’s pair of old sweatpants and pulled them on, feeling completely slobby. Maybe he was becoming too used to Alfred.  
  
He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his bed head. He grabbed his own pair of socks as his feet hit the hard floor, his toes feeling chilled. He hopped around on one foot as he pulled one on, and felt so utterly ridiculous he was thankful Alfred was busy and not around to make fun of him for the display. Once he decided he was presentable enough, he retreated from the bedroom and wandered his way downstairs, making sure to make enough noise so that Alfred would know he was coming. The last time he’d snuck downstairs quietly while Alfred had been playing his video games, he’d frightened the poor boy to tears just because he’d been so engrossed in the game.  
  
Alfred didn’t look up from his game when Arthur came into the room, but he said, cheerfully, bubbly, “Hey, babe!”   
  
Arthur rolled his eyes and tapped his knuckles against the back of the boy’s head as he walked by. “Hello.”  
  
“Are those my pants?” Alfred asked, glancing up from the game before quickly returning his attention to whatever game he was playing.   
  
Arthur flopped onto the couch, making a small grunting noise in the affirmative. “I couldn’t find my trousers.”   
  
“They’re probably under the bed.”  
  
“Hm,” Arthur agreed, and turned his attention to whatever game Alfred was playing. It looked boring and Arthur couldn’t follow it at all, but that was the way it was.  
  
Alfred waited until he died, or got to a save point, or something—Arthur couldn’t for the life of him tell the difference—before he squirmed his way across the couch to Arthur’s end and kissed him. Arthur sighed into the kiss, but opened up to the boy’s conquest, letting Alfred cradle his head and bite at his lower lip. Arthur gripped him by his love handles again and dragged him closer, until Alfred was straddling his lap and their breaths were coming out a bit heavier than before. Arthur slid his hands over the boy’s body, fingers playing with the waistband of his boxers, then drifting down over the powerful, toned muscles of his thighs and calves. His fingers brushed over the top of his socks, and his breath stilled for just a moment, or that could have been because Alfred was grinding against him in a way that was anything but innocent.   
  
“Your breath’s much better,” Alfred said cheerfully when he pulled away to breathe.  
  
Arthur scowled at him, hands still down near Alfred’s ankles, tugging on the socks until they were pulled up to mid-shin. Arthur stared at them until Alfred tipped Arthur’s chin up and kissed him, a bit more gently this time. Arthur relaxed just slightly and kissed back, enjoying just having Alfred close.   
  
But soon enough Alfred pulled away, smiling and picking his controller back up again. He settled back to his side of the couch, but kept his legs stretched out, draped over Arthur’s lap. Arthur swallowed thickly, running his hands idly along the boy’s shins, pushing and pulling on the fabric of the sock. If Alfred thought it was odd, he didn’t say anything, so focused he was on his game again. He played for a while and Arthur just sat, stifling another small yawn.   
  
He let his hand run idly along Alfred’s legs, lingering around his ankle, staring at the way the sock bunched up, then over the length of his (kind of hairy) shin, around his jutting kneecap, and the toned expanse of thigh and hip. His fingers trailed along, and save for a small shiver, Alfred did not move.   
  
And then his fingers brushed along the back of his knee, and Alfred’s breath hitched with a quiet _ah._   
  
Arthur smiled at him, brushed the backs of his knees again and reveled in the quiet noises Alfred made. His touch became harder on his legs after that. Instead of just gentle stroking, he kneaded at the muscles, working out the kinks and cricks, pushing the pads of his fingers into the soft flesh, feeling the definition and curve of his muscles and tendons.   
  
The actions continued on in this manner until, subtly, Alfred’s foot shifted. Arthur watched it, and then glanced up at Alfred, to make sure he hadn’t hurt the boy accidentally. But Alfred’s full attention was on his video game and he didn’t look up as his foot shifted, closer to Arthur, and then pressing up against Arthur’s crotch. Arthur jumped, and just managed to stifle a small gasp at the sudden pressure. He stared down at the foot—the fucking _sock_ —as it moved up against his pelvis. It pressed against his belly for a moment before sliding back down to the bunched fabric of sweatpants protecting Arthur’s cock (limp, but only for now). Arthur swallowed thickly as Alfred kept the pressure soft, didn’t press too hard with the foot, just dragged it slowly in a circular motion between his legs.   
  
Arthur’s breathing came out a bit harsher then, and he felt his cock starting to harden. He clenched his eyes shut a moment, kneading at Alfred’s muscles in encouragement.   
  
As Alfred continued this pressure, Arthur moved his hands, brushing them mercilessly against the back of Alfred’s knees and watching Alfred try desperately to bite back his quiet moans. And thus the competition began, trying to make the other cry out, admit defeat. Arthur brushed at Alfred’s knees until he saw the boy turn to jelly, his mouth falling open but no sound coming out. Then he slid one hand up, slowly, slowly reaching Alfred’s own cock, pressing his hand against the opening to the boxers—how easy it’d be to slip inside and wrap his fingers around that cock and squeeze, watch Alfred make the faces he always did when Arthur was pleasuring him.   
  
But Alfred moved just as confidently, sweeping his foot in just the movements that he knew drove Arthur crazy. And truly Arthur had to bite his lip a few times to keep from moaning out Alfred’s name. But watching his foot move was becoming too much, and staring at those socks, those legs— _Alfred._ It was too much. He was hard, and he knew it. He was ready to throw aside this pretense, climb on top of Alfred, and fuck him into the couch cushions. He restrained himself, but just barely. He pressed his palm against the curve of Alfred’s hardening cock, felt it through the flimsy material of his boxers—he was _right there_ , but still Alfred would not turn to look at him, so focused he was on his game.   
  
“Fuck!” Alfred said suddenly, as his concentration broke and the video game avatar died.  
  
Arthur smirked, triumphant. “I win.”  
  
“What? No way!” Alfred protested, turning now to face Arthur. “That was about the video game, not about what—a-ah!”   
  
Arthur had slipped his hand into his boxers and squeezed, thumb pressed against the cockhead.   
  
“Fuck,” Alfred said again, face flushed.   
  
Arthur smiled and crawled his way to Alfred, kissing him and sitting into his lap, hand still shoved down his boxers and squeezing and pumping. He could feel Alfred hardening in his hand, and the earlier desire to fuck him into the couch was becoming more and more desirable.   
  
But then he heard his cell phone, innocently sitting on the coffee table, start to ring and buzz against the wood, shifting against the table as it vibrated violently. Alfred paused, shifting his face to look at the cell phone, looking properly scandalized that it would dare to interrupt them. Arthur sighed, irritably, and seized the phone up with his unoccupied hand, staring at the caller I.D.  
  
It was from his boss, and he was torn about picking up or continuing the far more important task of pleasing Alfred. He frowned at the phone, but before he could make a decision, the phone stopped ringing—he’d waited too long.  
  
When he turned back to Alfred, phone still in one hand and his other hand around Alfred’s cock, Alfred was grinning at him. “Not like you to neglect your work, old man.”  
  
Arthur sniffed disdainfully and leaned in, kissing Alfred on the mouth, thrilled in the way Alfred opened up so willingly to him. He squeezed Alfred’s cock and resumed the pace from before.  
  
Then the phone rang again.  
  
“Fuck,” Arthur hissed as he pulled away from Alfred’s mouth. “Sorry lovely,” he said apologetically as he flipped the phone open and pressed it to his ear. He sounded completely calm and collected as he said, “Good morning, sir.”   
  
He slowly, regretfully, pulled himself off Alfred’s lap and removed his hand. Alfred seemed just as disappointed as he was, which was understandable—they were both stuck now with hard-ons and Arthur was stuck doing _policy_ on what was supposed to be his day off. His boss launched into a number of issues and things Arthur would have to work on once he got back to his papers, in a briefcase perched precariously on the kitchen table. Arthur sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead and watching out of the corner of his eye as Alfred leaned in close, kissing his jaw and whispered lowly in his ear that he was off to take a shower.   
  
Arthur watched Alfred walk away with a deep frown, feeling somehow cheated. He never felt this way about his work, but usually his boss didn’t call right when he was about to have a reason to become a morning person. He watched Alfred walk away, sulking lightly, his eyes on the socks as they slipped down from Alfred’s shins to his ankles. Arthur’s heart was racing, but that was probably because he was still very aroused.   
  
Arthur listened to his boss as patiently as he could, but his heart just wasn’t in it. His mind kept wandering, to images of Alfred, flushed, beneath him, mouth parted, cock hard, and wearing those _socks._   
  
He closed his eyes and his wandering thoughts left him completely missing whatever it was his boss was saying.  
  
“Sir,” Arthur interrupted. “Something’s… come up. May I call you in a few hours?”  
  
His boss said something, but eventually the man let Arthur go and with a snap of his phone, Arthur stood. He threw the evil device on the couch and stalked up the stairs after Alfred, in hopes of stopping him before he made it into the shower (or perhaps just jump him in the shower) and make use of the few extra hours he’d just been granted.   
  
“Alfred,” he called as he threw the room to Alfred’s bedroom open.  
  
“Whoa—!” was Alfred’s eloquent response, one leg bent in the air as he attempted to pull his sock off.   
  
He was completely naked, other than those socks.  
  
Arthur stared at him, felt the temperature raise about three degrees.   
  
“Wha—”  
  
“Ha ha, dude,” Alfred laughed. “You should knock when you know someone’s undressing!”   
  
Arthur didn’t reply, because the image was speaking directly to his cock and it felt as if all the blood in his body was rushing right there. He stared at Alfred as the boy grew uneasy under the long gaze, lowering his leg back down and standing there awkwardly without clothes on and only the socks on his feet. He even shifted his hands in a way that covered himself—so modest. So beautiful and so modest.   
  
Arthur started walking before he could stop himself and shoved at Alfred’s shoulders.  
  
“Whoa!” Alfred said, and almost laughed, as he fell onto his back on the unmade bed.  
  
Arthur was right there after him, climbing up on top of him and sitting down on him, feeling the bulge of Alfred’s cock against the fabric of his sweatpants.  
  
“Arthur—?”  
  
“Shut up,” Arthur commanded. “I’m going to fuck you.”  
  
Alfred stared at him, and then he beamed up at him. “Yay!”   
  
Arthur sighed out through his nose. “You’re—don’t sound so juvenile.”   
  
“I’m not,” Alfred protested, still grinning as he tugged off Arthur’s shirt. Arthur rolled his eyes, but quickly forgot why he was annoyed when Alfred grasped the back of his head and pulled him down flushed against his chest and kissed him. Arthur happily accepted the kisses and returned his own, alternating between stroking Alfred’s mouth with his tongue or chewing on his lower lip. Alfred was making those noises again, the kind he loved.   
  
Alfred’s hands found Arthur’s sweatpants and made quick work to pull them and his underwear off. Arthur shifted his hips to accommodate him, shivered as Alfred’s large, callused hands smoothed down his thighs, stroked at the lines of his muscles.   
  
Arthur pulled away with a sigh, collecting the clothes and chucking them away, his vision blurred with lust and Alfred was sprawled out on his back like that, hair fanned out around him, and his chest was heaving. He really was just far too attractive—Arthur silently figured he was completely doomed, if it came to Alfred.  
  
Arthur leaned in and kissed him briefly before shifting away, reaching for the bedside table, opening the small drawer and pulling out the lube. Alfred rolled after him, sitting up on his knees and pressing up against Arthur’s back, kissing at the back of his neck. Arthur bit back a small moan as Alfred’s hands wrapped around Arthur’s body, running down his chest, drifting dangerously close to his cock but never actually touching. He could feel Alfred’s hardened cock pressing up against him.   
  
Alfred kissed down his back, hands smoothing over his legs. Arthur felt Alfred grasp at the socks on Arthur’s feet, and started to pull.  
  
“Wait,” Arthur protested, and shifted, pushing Alfred back onto his back and straddling him, holding the lube in one hand, the other hand poised on Alfred’s chest. He swallowed thickly. “Wait.”  
  
Alfred blinked at him, eyebrows raised. “Huh?”  
  
Arthur cleared his throat, turning his face away. And out of the corner of his eye he could see Alfred wiggling his toes at the edge of the bed, trying to toe them off. Arthur grew inexplicably alarmed and shifted on Alfred’s lap, turning around so his back was to Alfred and leaning forward, grasping his ankles.  
  
“Wait,” he said again. He muttered, face bright red. “Leave them on.”  
  
Behind him he heard Alfred laugh and rest his hands on Arthur’s hips, thumbs massaging at the small of his back. “You’re so weird, babe.”   
  
“Shut the fuck up,” Arthur muttered, tugging on the socks so they were halfway up Alfred’s shins again. He cleared his throat as Alfred’s hands continued to knead at Arthur’s backside, thumbs pressing into the small of his back while the rest of his hands massaged at the soft flesh. Arthur made a soft sound in the back of his throat and tipped his head forward. “Alfred…”  
  
“You have a pretty back,” Alfred said, absently, and laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll keep my socks on.”  
  
“Good,” Arthur said primly, trying to ignore the way he was completely and utterly red-faced. He popped the cap of the lube and shifted slightly against Alfred, rubbing against his cock.   
  
“Hey,” Alfred said, tugging on Arthur’s sock next to his hip. “Look at me.”  
  
Arthur tilted his head, looking over his shoulder at Alfred in what he hoped was a dry, withering expression but, due to their current position, he probably only looked lewd.  
  
Alfred grinned at him. “Heeeey there, beautiful.”   
  
“Call me that again and one of these socks is going in your mouth,” Arthur muttered, blushing brightly and looking away again. He smoothed his lube-coated hand over Alfred’s cock, stroking slowly, thumb pressing at his cockhead before twisting downward. Alfred’s gently hitch was very satisfying.   
  
“Should I call you ugly, then? Ha ha—a-ah!” Alfred’s laughed cut off with a quiet moan as Arthur, in retaliation, stroked at the back of Alfred’s knee in time with the stroking of his cock. Alfred writhed a bit and bit back a quiet whine in the back of his throat. “No fair.”   
  
“You should know by now I play dirty,” Arthur said calmly.  
  
Alfred had no coherent reply to that other than a few strangled moans, and Arthur secretly added that to his score—Alfred was just losing all around today. Or possibly winning, if the way he was making noises was any indication. Arthur continued to stroke Alfred’s cock, spreading the lube liberally over him, preparing him for the smooth glide inside of Arthur.   
  
“Are you going to look at me while you fuck me, or are you too captivated by my socks?” Alfred asked at length, laughing around the soft gasps he kept making.  
  
Arthur’s reply was to shift his hips up, position himself over Alfred’s cock, and slowly slip him into himself, all the while facing away, hands braced on the bed. He arched his back, and felt Alfred’s hands on his hips, guiding him down.   
  
Arthur set the pace, pushing himself up and down on Alfred’s cock, speeding up once he loosened up and grew accustomed to having Alfred inside him. He pumped himself up and down along Alfred’s cock, aiming for his prostate. He leaned forward, bracing himself as Alfred’s grip on his hips tightened. He couldn’t help himself, though—his eyes were on Alfred’s socks. He could see the way Alfred’s feet flexed and tensed, the way his toes curled. The fabric of the socks flopped down to Alfred’s ankles and Arthur felt himself moan as Alfred shoved up into him. He swallowed thickly and reached out, grasping Alfred’s ankles, feeling the scrape of wool against his hands and a thrill of pleasure shoot up his spine from Alfred—just _Alfred._  
  
No words passed between them as they moved—Alfred was too focused on thrusting up, his movements becoming more frenzied as he neared closer and closer. Arthur’s thoughts were running a mile a minute—of Alfred, Alfred’s body, Alfred’s cock inside him, Alfred’s socks—  
  
Arthur’s orgasm took him by surprise, and he came with a small moan, writhing against Alfred, his grip on Alfred’s ankles tightening. Alfred continued to thrust up into him, and when Arthur became more aware of his surroundings, he could hear Alfred panting out his name, thrusting blindly up into Arthur. Arthur smiled lightly, and sat back up again for better leverage, using his legs to lift himself up and down on Alfred’s cock, tightening his body up when appropriate and thrilling in Alfred’s quiet little shout.   
  
Finally, the boy beneath him tensed up, and Arthur felt the warmth fill him as Alfred emptied his seed inside of Arthur. Arthur sighed, rolling his hips and milking Alfred dry. Alfred’s grip on Arthur’s hips loosened, just slightly, and when Arthur looked over his shoulder, he could see Alfred’s head tilted back, his body heaving. The hands on his hips fell away and smoothed down Arthur’s legs, over the backs of his knees, and down to his socks, tugging on them again. Arthur felt his breath catch.  
  
“You’re so weird,” was Alfred’s breathless words once he regained some semblance of control.  
  
Arthur scowled at him. “Shut up.”  
  
Alfred grinned, and pulled out of Arthur as Arthur lifted himself off Alfred, only to turn around and sit back down on him, this time facing him. Alfred held up his arms.   
  
“Come here.”  
  
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do.”  
  
But he laid down on top of Alfred anyway, and felt their legs tangle together, felt where their socks pressed up against one another. Arthur’s toes curled in pleasure.   
  
Alfred sighed out, content, and nuzzled his face into Arthur’s hair.  
  
Arthur closed his eyes and rested against him, could feel Alfred’s heart pounding against his ribcage and knew his was doing the same.   
  
“Weird,” Alfred said again and because Arthur was merciful, he let the quip slide. Though, not without a small slap to the back of Alfred’s head. God help him, he was so charmed by the boy.


End file.
